


Stab Wound

by shepardly



Series: Overwatch/Fallout New Vegas AU [3]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, tagged the ship but technically before it’s official in the fic, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: McCree’s POV during certain events of Something Lonesome About You.





	Stab Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy y’all, I’d say I’m back on my bullshit with this AU but I think I’m just still on it.
> 
> Basically a direct filler for scenes in my fic Something Lonesome About You, specifically chapter 8, just from a different POV. It was something that I nearly put into the fic, but decided it was too abrupt and weird of a POV change and left it out, and after much humming and hawing and thanks to a prompt list from Tumblr here it is.

***

McCree’s heart nearly stopped when two blue and nearly translucent dragons roared across the sand towards him, tearing through every Legion troop between him and Hanzo. Screams were abruptly silenced as the deadly dragons finished off their foes, and within seconds every Legion soldier was dead and McCree was left standing, staring at Hanzo.

The astonishing light show was unexpected, a show of power and ability that McCree had never seen from Hanzo before. But it wasn’t just the dragon’s appearance that shocked him.

He had _seen_ dragons like this before. Well, not _dragons_, but _a_ dragon. Genji had a dragon, albeit one that looked different and yet had some rather profound similarities. But Genji had also said that the Shimada clan were the only ones with such dragons in the Mojave.

A lot of things were starting to fall into place for McCree as he stood there, staring at the amnesiac Courier-with-a-mysterious-past, and he felt like a fool.

To be fair, the thought _had_ crossed his mind earlier, when he had learned Hanzo’s name and even seen parts of the dragon tattoo on his left arm. It couldn’t be _that_ common of a name, and not many people around here had such intricate tattoos, but this Hanzo wasn’t the Grade A asshole and ruthless leader of the Shimada clan that Genji had described. 

This Hanzo had cut McCree down from a cross and gotten him back on his feet, and even bought his cybernetic arm back for him after only knowing him for a matter of hours. This Hanzo wore a faded and worn out hand-me-down Vault suit under his armour, took immaculate care of his old equipment, and ate giant-ant steaks beside the campfire he made with McCree. This Hanzo took the time to help out folks in need, even going so far as handing over the last of his caps and food to families that were down on their luck and when he thought no one was looking. Genji’s description couldn’t possibly fit this Hanzo, so McCree had put it out of his mind.

But. Two blue dragons, Genji had said. No one else had ever had two dragons, making it all but impossible to misidentify Hanzo Shimada now. And McCree was rapidly having to come to terms with a few conflicting thoughts.

While McCree was processing all this, staring back at a Hanzo that looked as shocked as he felt, a Legion decanus rose from the sand directly behind Hanzo, throwing spear in hand.

McCree’s body acted before he could really think about it, Peacekeeper pointed at the decanus (and _shit_, it did look like he was aiming at Hanzo like Hanzo’s expression was saying), but it was already too late.

Hanzo rocked forward half a step with a startled gasp, and only tore his gaze from McCree’s to look down at where his suit and armour tented around the spear that had completely impaled him. The sound that was ripped from him at the same time as the spear was a strangled half-scream — a heart-stopping sound that McCree could happily go the rest of his life without ever hearing again — then Hanzo fell like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut.

McCree shot the decanus between the eyes before he could stab the spear downwards at Hanzo again and started running towards them. The decanus was very much dead, and McCree barely paid any attention as he shoved the body aside to get at Hanzo.

The Courier was nearly writhing on the ground, his body trying to curl around the wound while his breathing came in short, tight gasps. His eyes were open, but he didn’t appear to be aware of McCree as he tore through Hanzo’s satchel, looking for stimpacks and anything that could be used as compresses and bandages.

McCree was no medic, but he at least could tell that he wasn’t dealing with a severed artery. The blood wasn’t pumping or gushing from the wound, but it was still bleeding heavily. McCree found some rags and pressed one to the exit wound that was high and to the side on Hanzo’s chest near his armpit, and partially rolled him onto his side to get another rag pressed against the entry wound, low on his back on the same side. Hanzo keened at the movement and pressure, weakly twitching in pain, but McCree gritted his teeth and used the roll of fabric bandage he found and wrapped it around Hanzo to hold the compresses in place. He spotted a stimpack in the sand where it had fallen from the satchel and stabbed it into Hanzo’s neck to inject the contents, then quickly searched around for more. There were no stimpacks near at hand, but there was a med-x so he grabbed that and stuck Hanzo with it as well.

By the time he had done all he could and stuffed everything that seemed important back into the satchel and threw it over his shoulder, Hanzo was already going loose-limbed and limp on the ground, well on his way to passing out entirely. McCree gathered him up and hoisted him from the sand with a grunt and muttered apology as Hanzo let out another sound of pain and feebly clutched at the bandages on his wounded shoulder.

“Hang on, Hanzo, stay with me here.” McCree’s chest felt tight with worry, and every hitching breath from Hanzo was a concern and relief in one. Despite his coaxing and pleading, Hanzo suddenly went completely limp in his arms, his head tipping back as his eyes rolled back in his head and his arm fell from where he’d been holding it across his chest.

McCree nearly panicked right then and there, but Hanzo drew another thin, strained breath, and then another. He was still alive, just unconscious.

McCree kept telling himself that as he hurried towards Freeside. It had been years since he’d clapped eyes on anyone from Overwatch or its shadier counterpart, but he’d kept tabs on a few of his former teammates. Doc — Angela Ziegler — had been working with the Followers of the Apocalypse, although it seemed to be more of a working relationship rather than her actually joining the group entirely. McCree told himself that he didn’t actually _avoid_ any of the people he had been keeping tabs of, but he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t actually made an effort to get in touch either. At first it had been because the memories were too painful, and after time, when the pain had become a little easier to bear, it had already become a habit, and McCree had always found habits hard to break.

But now that he was hurrying towards the Old Mormon Fort with Hanzo dangling out-cold in his arms, he realized he hadn’t even hesitated in making the decision to go straight to Angela. She was the best doctor in New Vegas, and likely in all the Mojave and then some. He had no doubt that if anyone could save Hanzo it would be her.

He pushed the gate into the Old Mormon Fort open with his shoulder, already bellowing for Angela. The call for “doc” brought a couple different people running, and as much as McCree appreciated that he was still looking for _her_. When her blond head poked out a tent doorway he felt his knees go weak with relief, and he charged towards her as she exclaimed in surprise but quickly and professionally cleared the way for him to lay Hanzo on a surgical table inside.

He didn’t realize Hanzo had come around until he needed help getting his clothing untangled from a stranglehold grip, although he didn’t appear to be entirely aware of his surroundings as his eyes roved sightlessly and lashes fluttered sporadically.

Angela cut the makeshift bandages off and peeled back the bloodied vault suit, revealing the exit wound and a damning amount of the dragon tattoo on his arm. At first, McCree thought that she would ignore it, but once it seemed to register she hesitated before turning to McCree with a hard look in her eyes.

“Look, Ange, I know, I promise I’ll tell you everything,” McCree raised a placating hand, the other still entangled in Hanzo’s surprisingly strong grip, “but please, _please_, you gotta help him. Please.”

Angela set her jaw, and her assistants seemed startled by the sudden pause in activity. Hanzo’s hand went slack in McCree’s as he passed out again, his head lolling on the table.

“Please,” McCree felt his voice crack on the word.

“You _will_ explain.” Angela finally told him but she nodded sharply to her team and the flurry of activity resumed, and McCree was shouldered out of the way and then the tent as they descended on Hanzo.

Once McCree found himself outside, he bent over to put his hands on his knees and took the opportunity to catch his breath, overwhelmed.

He had gotten Hanzo here alive, and got him to Angela, and everything else was out of his hands. Standing there alone in the Old Mormon Fort courtyard, he tried to take comfort in that.

***


End file.
